A Blissful Halloween
by ElizabethLestrade
Summary: Do be quiet, Lestrade," Holmes murmured against her shoulder. "You are making it exceedily difficult to romance you." This story is finished. I HEART reviews!


**Authors Note:** The story ideas are starting to come fast and furious now. This number popped into my head earlier in the week. A few friends and I were talking about corsets and how restrictive they were. I was also thinking about what I would like for my Halloween costume to be this year. Therefore, this story was born. As always, Sherlock Holmes and Professor James Moriarty belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Elizabeth "Beth" Lestrade, Dr. Watson, the Irregulars, and Chief Inspector Grayson belong to DIC, and this story idea belongs to me. It is, in a way, an add on to "The Sussex Vampire", but by no means an alternate ending.

I have taken a liberty with the cannon story line, in that Holmes is already courting Lestrade by that point. For those of you that do not know the term, _**Courting**_ was a practice, usually initiated by the man, in which two people who liked each other would date, usually with strict, society standards dictating how they behaved and what romantic steps they would take up until the point of an engagement.

**Authors Warning: This story is rated mature for a reason. If you're not of age to be reading such material, or if you don't care to read about material of a sexual nature, then I would proceed no further if I were you.**

**A Blissful Halloween**

"You know, I almost wish that Moriarty had thought of a more clever way to keep me under his thumb than using my own hand cuffs."

Holmes raised an elegant blond eyebrow. Of all the things Inspector Elizabeth Lestrade could have said as they flew back to 221B Baker Street, that comment was somewhat near the bottom of the list of what he could have expected. He stole a glance at Watson who seemed just as perplexed at the comment as he had.

"And why do you say that?" he asked after a few moments of mulling and holding on tight to the door handle as Lestrade banked a hard right in the hovercraft and then smoothed out the vehicle. Even for the inspector, she was driving somewhat haphazardly through the air traffic, and Holmes was actually nervous for his well being for the first time in a while.

"Because it would have been the perfect excuse to get out of this ridiculous Halloween party that New Scotland Yard is demanding every officer go to!" Lestrade's frustration continued to show through in her piloting. "If Grayson wants to get dressed up as some silly 16th century courts jester, that's all well and good, but why does he have to drag me into it?"

_That is a very good question, particularly when it involves my life being endangered because of it!_ Holmes swallowed down his dinner from a few hours ago and chanced a glance out the window. No wonder his stomach was so topsy turvey; they were nearing the ground quickly. The inspector's inertial dampeners were certainly not doing their job tonight!

"The only thing that makes me feel even the tiniest bit better about all this is that you have two have go too." Lestrade locked the hover car into an idle position and pressed the release hatch for the doors. After a few moments of no one moving, she glanced beside and behind her. Neither Holmes nor Watson was moving; they were glaring at her. Watson was the first of the duo to speak.

"Inspector, I am just a compudroid. Why is it required that I attend?"

"Well, I guess for you it _is_ more of an invitation and not a summons, _but_," she pointed at Sherlock as he opened his mouth, preparing to try and sweet talk his way out of this one, "you are a paid consultant of New Scotland Yard, and Grayson feels that, as your boss, if I'm there, my subordinate has to be as well."

"And, pray tell, when were you going to inform me of this little get together?"

Beth smiled sweetly. "Now." The look on her face clearly stated that if she had to suffer through this, he was going to have to suck it up and suffer right along with her. She glanced at the hover cars chronometer. "It's 4 in the morning now. I'll pick you up at 7 tonight."

Holmes groaned and proceeded to get out of the passenger side, Watson following him with a sympathetic look on his face. Before Lestrade could close the hatch again, Sherlock leaned his head in the door. "How exactly am I supposed to dress for this…event?"

"Deidre and Wiggins will be over after school today to take you to a local costume shop. And before you ask, I've already got mine." Lestrade tossed him a wicked grin as she commanded the hover car to once again lower the passenger hatch. Before driving away though, she lowered the window. "As much as I'm dreading this party Holmes, _you_ just might be surprised by what I wear."

And with that, she was off, flying into the still dark early morning hours of New London, leaving Holmes and Watson to stand in the middle of the street. Sighing, Sherlock turned to glance at his robotic friend.

"They are far and few between, my dear Watson, but none the less, there are times when I question my sanity in continuing to court that woman."

"As I understand it Holmes, that is mostly the view of men everywhere regarding their women." Watson offered Holmes a reassuring pat on the back as they walked up the 17 steps to their flat and turned in for the night.

**A Blissful Halloween**

3:00pm rolled around, and with it came Deidre, Wiggins, and Tennyson. "Hope you don't mind, Mr. Holmes, but Tennyson had one of his afterschool lessons canceled, and he wanted to come and help out."

"Excellent, Wiggins! Of course all my Irregulars are welcome at any time." Holmes grabbed his Inverness and slipped it on. "And where are you three taking me?"

"Mirna's Old World Costumes, Mr. Holmes," Deidre responded happily, "for your date with the inspector!"

"My dear Deidre, this is not a date, but a summons from Chief Inspector Grayson for me to endure a particular form of Hell tonight which I have not had the pleasure of experiencing in quite some time." Holmes stole a glance at Watson who only looked away, the droid doing his best to hold in a laugh. Deidre was forever trying to obtain incriminating evidence of Inspector Lestrade and The Great Detective of being anything more than good friends and comrades. If only she knew just how close she'd come sometimes to gaining the proof which she, an idealistic teenager, yearned to have in her possession.

Watson knew about it, of course; he was the first and only person they'd told. Being the private people they were neither Beth nor Sherlock wanted the whole of New London to know about their current relationship, for the whole of New London included New Scotland Yard, the Press, and the criminal underworld, namely Moriarty and anyone that Lestrade had put away for some amount of time. So, Watson was sworn to secrecy, and the Irregulars, good kids that they were, would be told at a more appropriate time. That was the wish of both Lestrade and Holmes, and Watson would see to it that it was granted as much as possible.

"Well, Holmes, if you're ready let us be off. We have three hours to find you a costume and four before the party begins, and neither adds up to a lot of time." Watson grabbed his trench coat and shrugged it on, looking down when he heard the familiar beeping and whooping from Tennysons' communications console. Watson grinned. "I do know what the Inspector is wearing, young master Tennyson. And it will be our job to herd Holmes in that direction as well." A happy whooping sound emanated from the young boy and Watson pulled his coat closed.

"All ready to go?"

**A Blissful Halloween**

"This…is…ridiculous!" Lestrade held onto the door frame, holding her breath as best she could, and she was beginning to have some serious reservations about her particular choice in dress tonight. Why hadn't she chosen something simple for the Halloween Gala, like a witch, or a ghost, or even a princess with a simple gown?

"Pain is beauty, and beauty is pain, Beth!" Edith continued to lace up the corset, tightening it every time the cords passed through the rungs. "Though I've got to say, it is fairly unusual to see you taking such an interest in your costume for this year…" Lestrade could feel the happy grin Edith leveled at her from behind and grimaced as the hard plastic hugged at her ribs even more. "Any particular reason?"

"Just wanted to try something different this time-ow!" Lestrade tossed a half pained, half annoyed glance over her shoulder. "I can't believe women used to wear these things; how did they manage to breathe?!"

"Very carefully, m'dear, very carefully," Beth felt Edith near the top of the corset (finally). "Give the frame a good holding onto, Beth, we're almost done. I've just got to tie everything up and hook it correctly. Big deep breath now, ready?" Lestrade took another long deep breath, and then released it slowly as Edith grasped the laces of the corset tightly and began hooking them around the eye-hooks to fasten it. Finally, Beth felt her friend tying off the laces.

"All done!" The red head inspected her work, motioning for her friend to turn around. "Nice, Elizabeth! You actually have a chest to speak of!"

"Yea, well…" Beth felt around her middle, breathing in and out as deeply and slowly as she could. "I'm not sure how long this thing is going to stay on." She didn't miss the wink that her college roommate sent her way and rolled her eyes. "Please, resist the urge to turn that into a sexual connotation, will you?"

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"Yea, I could see that you weren't gonna say anything." Lestrade walked carefully over towards her bed and held up the grand, bustled Victorian dress that she would be wearing for the evening. If dresses had been Beth's thing, she probably would have thought that this one was rather beautiful. And she had to admit that even though she detested skirts, dresses, and dressing up, the gown that Edith had helped her pick out was rather pretty. She could at least appreciate the craftsman ship and detail that had gone into the garment. But when Edith had tried to fit her for heeled shoes, Beth had immediately put a stop to that. She was an officer of the law, and just because there was a big party for all the other officers of New Scotland Yard tonight didn't mean that something wasn't going to go down. She could easily hide her ionizer in her thigh holster, but if she had to run, she'd prefer not having to maneuver a 2 and a half inch height difference that she wasn't used to.

"There we go, slip the flats on…" Edit grabbed the shoes off the bed and knelt down, guiding the shoes onto her feet, "we've done your make-up, we'll do your hair after you but the dress on, yes?"

"Yea, but Edith, really, nothing to crazy, will ya? Just something simple and plain," Lestrade pulled the dress on over her head and smoothed it down. As Edith buttoned her up in the back, she had to admit that the corset did do wonders for the dress and figure combined. It wasn't that Beth was out of shape by any stretch of the imagination; quite the contrary, as any criminal or felon she'd ever had the pleasure of fighting would attest to. But the corset did firm up and lift some areas of her body that she rarely accentuated, and the dress certainly had a much better lay on her stomach and back with the corset on than when she'd tried it on in the dressing room at the shop.

"22 buttons later, and you are done!" Edith walked around her friend, grinning the whole way. "Girl, you look absolutely stunning."

"Yea, but we've still got the hair to do right? It's almost 6:00pm; I've got to leave in a few minutes…"

"Oh pashaw." Edith waved Beth into the lavatory and directed her to sit in the chair. "We have plenty of time. A simple French twist will do for this get up. Don't want to take away anything from _you_, now do we?"

True to her word, in four minutes, Edith had all of Elizabeth's hair, save the dirty blonde strand that she'd left to hang freely, wrapped in an elegant twist and pinned securely. "You have to be doing all this for some mate, Beth; I've never seen you take so much care in your appearance, even for a Halloween party."

Lestrade had to admit, she barely recognized herself as she looked in the mirror, but she also had to concede that she liked what he saw. Sometimes a change was good, sometimes branching out was needed. "It's really nothing, Edith. Like I said before, I just wanted to try something different."

"Uh huh…" Edith flipped her reddish curls over her shoulder as she followed Lestrade out of the restroom. "Well, unless you have any more need of me, I'm out of here. I've got my own party to get ready for."

"Hot date?"

"Up at The Restaurant. My boyfriends work is having a party there tonight. The boss rented out the entire saucer, can you believe it?" Grabbing her purse, Edith headed for the door, waving at Beth as she opened the door and walked out. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, girl! Have a good time!"

Laughing, Lestrade closed the door. She had a few minutes before she had to leave, so she did what most women did before they went out for the night. She checked her hair once more, touched up the little make up that was on her face, and smoothed her gown several times after lacing up her thigh holster and attaching the ionizer to it. With a deep breath, or as best of one as she could muster given the restrictiveness of her costume, she took one last look in the mirror before grabbing the keys for her hover car, her badge, and a credit chip for parking at the five star hotel that N.S.Y. had rented out for the night.

_Okay, Bethie-girl…party time!_

Unfortunately for Lestrade, three minutes later, instead of being in the air on the way to the party, she was back in her apartment, cursing the very hover car she owned. "Great time to have a maintenance issue," she grumbled, typing in Holmes' com-link code on the wall communicator and switching to audio only.

**A Blissful Halloween**

"Hello, we have a call coming in…" Deidre pressed the receive button, "evenin' Inspector! How can we Irregulars help you?"

"Deidre, is Holmes still there?"

"Yes'm, he's just now putting on his-" Deidre clamped up her mouth as Wiggins cut his finger across his throat. She almost spilt the beans on what Holmes had chosen to wear for the night, and neither was supposed to know. "He's just now puttin' on his coat and hat." She heard a snort on the other end of the line.

"What, is he going as himself?"

"Uhhh…ya might say that." Deidre needed to change the line of conversation, or she was going to give away Holmes 'surprise'. "Anyways, what can we do for you, Inspector?"

"Is that Lestrade on the line?" Holmes came out of his room, looking quite elegant in his black Victorian evening jacket and bow tie, a top hat in his hand and an old fashioned cane made out of wood, not metal in the other. He stepped up to the communication console. "Lestrade?"

"Hey. Look, I'm going to be a few minutes late to the party." Sherlock could hear the frustration in her voice and frowned. "My hover car didn't want to lift off, so I'm waiting for a hover taxi now."

"Nonsense, Lestrade. Call the company immediately and tell them to cancel your order. I shall pick you up myself."

"You'll be going out of your way, Holmes, and then we'll both wind up being late. Grayson expects at least one of us to be on time. I can wait for the taxi; you go ahead and go."

Holmes placed his hat on top of his head. "My dear Lestrade, I am many things, but ungentlemanly is not one of them. I shall not leave a lady to wait on a common cab when my vehicle provides better and safer transportation. I shall see you in a few minutes. Holmes out." Sherlock terminated the call before the inspector could argue and turned to look at the Irregulars and Watson. "Well then, off I go to a night of glittering society and splendor…I do hope that Grayson manages to drink enough that we can slip out un-noticed. A pity you won't be attending, Watson."

"I checked to ensure I was not required to be there Holmes, and I must admit, when I was told I was more than welcome to miss the party, sparks of happiness flew within." Watson handed Holmes' cloak to him and smiled. "I shall keep the light burning for you, old friend. Do try and have a good time."

Wiggins nodded. "Yea, I mean, I'm sure there will be plenty of people there that would wanna hear stories from 1800's England."

Tennyson whurped and beeped his agreement as Deidre rested against his hover vehicle. "Not to mention that Inspector Lestrade will be there. You should ask her to dance at some point tonight, Mr. Holmes!" Another succession of beeps from Tennyson, and Holmes laughed. "No lad, I did not buy a…corsage. The inspector and I are only attending because we are required to, and no more. Costume parties have never really held my interest. There are enough people in this world wearing masks, and I've never seen the need for the 'good guys' to don them as well." Checking his wrist chronometer, Holmes headed for the door. "Keep them out of trouble, Watson." He paused half way out the door. "On second thought, if they manage to get into something, do be sure to contact me at once. Any excuse to get out of this affair will do me well."

**A Blissful Halloween**

The longer the minutes ticked by, the more nervous Lestrade started to feel. This morning when she'd woken up, she'd felt extremely confident about the dress she'd chosen. It was tasteful and elegant and Victorian to a tee, and yet, it was something that, if Holmes were to ever see her in such a garb, that she could easily see herself in as well. But now, as she inspected the large and buoyant violet bow sitting on her lower back and fiddled with the bustle on her backside, she could feel the butterflies in her stomach, and silly old fears of being 16 again and waiting for her date to pick her up for a high school dance came flooding back.

What if he didn't like it? What if he thought she looked absolutely ridiculous? What if, when he looked at her, he had to _try_ to find something kind to say? Beth glanced at her hair, and immediately decided it was all wrong. In all of the holo-vids and pictures she'd seen, most women had their hair curled tightly all around their head, and bows pinning their (mostly) long locks in place. Because of her profession, she'd always insisted on having her hair short, and since she was always on duty, never bothered to have it styled.

"I look like a ruffled clown," she decided to herself, turning around a few more times. She'd never had much luck with men; it was part of the reason why she threw herself into her work. At least _that_ she was good at. So, of course she would have to screw up one of the few in-public dates that she and Holmes would have…secretly of course…

_Visitor at Front Entrance._

Beth gulped. "Be right there!" Her legs, somewhat stiff at the moment carried her out of her room and down the hall into the living room. She stared at the door for a moment before taking a deep breath and pressing in the code for it to slide back.

What greeted her was straight out of the history books. Holmes was dressed spectacularly in a black evening suit, complete with coat tails, a cane, and a top hat. The bow tie around his neck was straight and perfect, the pants were sleek and obviously well tailored, the dress shoes had obviously been shined as recently as an hour ago (she could smell the polish), and for a brief period of time, she hoped that he thought she looked as wonderful as she thought he did that night.

They both hung in the door way for a few silent, tense moments, Lestrade anxiously plucking at something on her skirt and feeling more and more self conscious with each passing second that Holmes crystal blue eyes wandered over her. When Sherlock finally made a move, she let out the breath that she'd been holding.

He _bowed_ to her. A low, sweeping, respectful, proper English Gentleman bow; a bow that a man would give a Lady. He offered her his hand, which, Beth now noticed as she placed her own in it, was gloved in white, and she watched, surprised, but not shocked, as Holmes delivered a light endearing kiss to the skin he found there. When he finally looked at her, Lestrade was glad that she wasn't the only one who had a slight flush to her cheeks.

"Elizabeth, you look..." Holmes shook his head, unable to finish the sentence, but he quickly recovered. "There are no words to describe your beauty, so I will not even begin to try, for doing so would only insult you."

Beth couldn't help but let a wide grin break out on her face, squeezing his hand lightly as she pulled him inside and into her arms fully. "You look great too…I was hoping I'd gotten it right."

"It would seem you have." He lifted her chin up just slightly lowered his mouth to hers, sharing a chaste kiss with her, and he couldn't help but smile when he felt her fingers playing with the small hairs on the nape of his neck. Reluctantly however, he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers, cherishing the physical intimacy that they did not get to share or participate in as often as they liked.

"We should go," she murmured, "Grayson will wonder what's keeping us, and we'll be peppered with questions as soon as we get to the place."

"A most unappetizing possibility if I do say so myself…you have a cloak to match your gown, I am assuming?" Beth nodded and pointed to the closet on the other side of the room. Sherlock quirked a smile. "Then, my Lady, I shall get your wrap, and we will be on our way."

**A Blissful Halloween**

As a rule, Lestrade hated these social gatherings. It was a chance for one of three things, two of which she'd seen happen at every single gala or ball the Yard had sponsored. First, the leaders of the city, including the council, and even the Prime Minister himself, would attend the party, and Grayson, along with all the other chiefs, would spend the entire night buttering up to them as he usually did, softening their hearts to certain budget concerns and extracting promises that none of them would remember in the morning but that Grayson would almost assuredly remind them of in the coming months.

"Hey, they spent more on decorating the place this year." Beth smirked as she looked around. Indeed, the hotel had been richly decorated. Black banners hung everywhere with stretched wool like material plastered all over the walls. Pumpkins had not been forgotten over 200 years, and they too had been gutted and carved with various patterns. As Lestrade looked around, she saw that someone had a sense of humor; someone had carved a portrait of Moriarty in one of the orange bulbs. She pointed it out to Holmes and he shared her amusement. "A very good likeness, if I do say so myself."

As they continued to walk, Beth noticed several fog machines lying in strategic places on the floor, creating a rather "ridiculous fog" as Holmes pointed out, and she couldn't say she blamed him. Electric balls of light that Beth assumed were supposed to act as candles were suspended in mid hair at various points of the room. An orchestra, tucked away in a corner and dressed in costumes as well was playing a rather haunting melody that suited the holiday quite nicely.

And then of course, there were the guests themselves. There were various ghosts, goblins, witches, and vampires and werewolves walking about, some with wine glasses in their hands, others with small dishes of appetizers. Some were laughing and talking uproariously in large groups, others were keeping things simple and dining with no more than four per table, and others still were getting things started early with the festivities by dancing.

As she continued to look around, Beth frowned when she spotted something she didn't quite recognize. "What in the zedding world are they doing over there?" She pointed to a group of costumed adults who were gathered around a metal bin. One was bent over it, hands behind his or her back, though his whole upper body, including what looked like his or her head, was moving around quite vigorously. As they moved closer, she heard a sardonic chuckle emanate from her date.

"Bobbing for apples," Holmes snickered as the man, now that they could see, came up, the large red fruit in his mouth firmly as his friends clapped him on the back. "A very old past time, and very popular as well, for if you managed to catch the apple, it was a sign of great fertility in your future. Young, unmarried girls and boys used to play the game, and it was always considered a good omen to catch such a fruit betwixt ones teeth."

"I wonder why we just don't go down to the City Hall and change your last name to Webster."

"Oh come now, my dear Lestrade, to give me such a common surname would be to insult me, don't you agree?"

She was about to make her answer when she heard her own surname being called. "Here we go," she muttered, turning around and pushing her skirts behind her to receive the Chief Inspector.

"Yes, yes, Lestrade, I thought that was you…though I've got to say, it was difficult to recognize you immediately. I don't believe I've ever seen you in a dress."

"Not true, chief. There was that little stint when I had to go under cover as a prostitute in the Underground to scrounge up some information on Radby, remember?"

"Yes," Grayson chuckled, "though I think that could more be described as a long rag than a dress…"

"Permit me to interrupt, Chief Inspector, but is this really the place to be discussing Lestrades habit of wearing little to nothing in the Underground when she is playing a role?" Holmes outward features seemed as normal as ever, but inside, he was just on the slight side of irritated. He did not like change, even though he could adapt remarkably well, and had done so when he'd been ripped away from deaths grasp and brought back into the land of the living. But there were some things that Sherlock Holmes would never be able to stomach.

Speaking publicly of a lady wearing so little, even while doing her duty was offensive to him, particularly when said lady was the woman he was courting, secretive as their relationship was.

"Mr. Holmes? This is a costume party, why did you come as yourself?" Grayson looked him up and down, annoyed that he'd been chastised in front of one of his subordinates, and by someone who wasn't even from the current time. Really, dead detectives were quite bothersome.

"I am rather cynical of costume parties; I only came because I was apparently summoned, no doubt by your desire to see me and converse with me, and ensure that I am having a marvelous time in this century."

Lestrade couldn't help but snort at that, and she didn't bother to hide it behind a hand either. This earned her a rather disgruntled glare from her boss, but she took it gracefully enough. The mound of paperwork on her desk come the next work day be damned. Holmes, for his part, took the opportunity to offer a drink to her, and she readily accepted, nodding as he slipped away.

"I see someone has carved a likeness of Moriarty," Grayson continued, pointing out the pumpkin that was all by its lonesome near a rather underserved wall, not seeming to notice that Holmes had left. "And speaking of that bloody criminal, have you two got anything more on him? Heard anything from any of your sources? Any idea which rock he's crawled under after your confrontation with him last night?"

"Not so much as a whisper on the wind, Chief," Lestrade shrugged, "but he's Moriarty, the Napoleon of Crime. Don't worry; I'm sure he'll grace us with his presence again soon."

"That is exactly what I want to prevent, Lestrade! I read your report very thoroughly; I was especially amazed at the part where Fenwick managed to put you into your own cuffs!"

"Then you must have been doubly amazed at the part where I got out of them," Lestrade sent back evenly. "This isn't some thug from the Underground that's a mindless zombie, Chief, this is Professor James Moriarty. He has over 200 years experience at being a criminal. It's going to take more than the traditional methods to catch him."

"You have more than traditional methods, Lestrade, which was your whole justification for bringing a deceased detective back to life! And what has it gotten us?"

"If there is one thing that Moriarty and Holmes have in common, Chief, it's their vanity. They continually try to outdo the other, why do you think Moriarty wants Holmes back in a coffin so badly?" Lestrades' feathers were beginning to get slightly ruffled. How many times would she have to defend her decision to reanimate the world's greatest detective? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sherlock heading back towards them, two glasses of wine in his grip, but she raised her hand slightly, staying him. It was not her desire for him to hear them talking about his new life's worth.

"Lestrade, you should know there's been some…some talk, around the office."

Beth raised an eyebrow, at the same time, her stomach clenched. The corset did not help her breathing. She went for the nonchalant approach, a subtle interest. "There's always talk about someone somewhere, Chief. "

"Yes, well, this time the talk is about you, and the time you spend with a certain necromancer detective."

_Zed…_

"I find it interesting that your costumes match so well tonight." Grayson was giving her a critical eye that Lestrade had often likened to the look her father gave her when he knew she was hiding something from him. Never the less, she considered herself somewhat of a decent actress, and she was fully ready with an explanation.

"Yea, one of the Irregulars suggested we both go for a Victorian look tonight. It helped her with a history project she's working on in school." Beckoning with her hand, which was now low to her hip, she waved Holmes back over. She needed to get out of this conversation. But if she thought that Grayson was going to stop simply because Holmes resumed his trek back to her and handed her a drink, she was sadly mistaken.

"Listen to me, both of you: I couldn't care less what it is you choose to do outside the department, but when the inspectors start snickering and joking and carrying on about what a lovely couple you two would make, it tends to grate on my nerves a little, particularly the nerve that reminds me of a staple called 'conflict of interest' or another one called 'improper use of position'." Grayson raised his eyebrows as if to say, 'do you catch my meaning'. Lestrade only looked him in the eye, neither nodding nor shaking her head in response. Holmes stood silent.

Grayson prompted her. "Do you understand what I am saying to you Lestrade?"

Lestrade clicked her tongue and looked him squarely in the eye, not flinching a muscle as she answered. "Yes, sir."

With a final glance at Holmes, Grayson moved on to the next guest that would have to bare his presence for a time. Beth pursed her lips, watching him go and took a long sip of the wine she found in her goblet. "And now jokes get made into truth. Just great."

"He has nothing but a few idle comments made by those who speak so as they look as though they know," Holmes assured her, "he has no solid evidence."

"He doesn't need evidence. He has a suspicion, that's good enough for him." Lestrade shook her head. "I guess he thinks we're busy fornicating when we should be out there catching Moriarty." The words were out of her mouth before she could catch them, and she sent Holmes an apologetic look when she saw the blush that spread across his cheeks. _Thank God he's looking away from Grayson, or the Chief would see that beacon of red from a mile away!_

"Whatever, it doesn't matter." She placed her glass on a passing tray and turned to Holmes. "Ask me to dance, will you?"

**A Blissful Halloween**

"Well, that was a wonderfully boring time," Lestrade punched in her code and her flat door slid open, revealing a dark apartment, just as she'd left it. "Lights," she ordered, and the room lit immediately. She sighed as she slid her cloak off onto the chair and placed her hands on her lower back, stretching the now sore muscles there. She watched as her date slid off his evening cloak as well and rested his cane by the door. When he set his hat atop the cloak, and looked at her, she smiled. "Do you want me to make some tea?"

"I shall make the tea, Lestrade. The corset must be aching you; no doubt you realize that I've noticed the considerable amount of stretching and massaging you have done to soothe the discomfort you must be feeling." Ever the gentleman, he strode over to her and clasped her hands, leading her to the sofa. "Sit down, Beth. I am accustomed to these garments; you are not."

Lestrade quirked an eyebrow. "You're used to wearing corsets, Holmes? Is there something you haven't been telling me?"

A snicker passed his lips as she kissed her on the forehead. "You know very well what I meant. Milk, as you like it?"

"Please."

In no time at all, Holmes and Lestrade were settled on the settee, cups of fine English tea in their hands as they discussed the night's events. Neither of them brought up Grayson or what he'd said. After six months of seeing each other, they were lucky to have gotten away with it for that long. Neither of them had particularly enjoyed their evening; their one solace had been each other, and so they'd shared the misery of politicking and greeting and conversing together. But by 11:30pm, they had both had all that they could take.

It was nearly two in the morning before Holmes placed his cup and saucer on the living room table in front of him and stood up. "It is late. I should be going."

"You could stay." Beth looked up at him, leaning back as far as her body would allow. Now that her spine had rest against the back of the sofa, she felt more comfortable with the corset on, as it was no longer her only means of support.

"You know how I feel about that," he murmured. Beth sighed. Yes, she did know how he felt about that. The subject of him lying with her out of wed lock had come up once or twice before. Each time, he'd wiggled out of it. She'd tried to explain to him that it wasn't dishonoring her at all to sleep with her, that it was something she desired of him, a show of ultimate love and affection that she knew he felt for her, and she for him. But without a marriage contract, Holmes was uncomfortable with the idea.

Hence, no copulation.

She wouldn't try to dissuade him. She only stood up and walked around to face him. "Do me a favor then before you leave, will ya?"

He waited. She smirked.

"Unlace this God forsaken corset!"

Bowing his head, Holmes motioned for her to stand in the doorway of the kitchen and to hold to the frame. "The relieving of the bindings will throw your balance off slightly. I have known some women to faint when their corsets are removed, having not been used to wearing them. The sudden rush of oxygen into the lungs is sometimes too much." He started at the top of the gown, undoing each button one by one, having little to no trouble with them as his fingers were long and slender. Once the back of the gown was undone, he spread the material apart and reached forward, grasping the strings that held the corset tightly in place. Gently, he loosened them, notch by notch, the sound of the thick thread flowing through the metallic holes. Briefly, he heard a sigh of relief from Lestrade, and he placed one of his hands on her waist to steady her as she moved slightly towards the door frame.

Almost as though it had developed a mind of its own, Holmes' hand traveled upward over the slightly ruffled material of the dress to the now somewhat bare shoulder of the woman before him. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but then again, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. His feet carried him forward until his chest touched her back. His lips found the skin of her shoulder, and he pressed them lightly to it, caressing her skin with a love he'd not thought he could ever possess. He heard her gasp of surprise and he smiled, snaking his arm around her middle and holding her close to him.

"Holmes…" her face turned to look at him as much as one could look at someone standing behind them, but it was enough for the detective to see the shock in her eyes at his intimate touch.

"Do be quiet, my dear Elizabeth," he murmured against her cheek, "I am trying to make love to you."

He gently turned her to face him, cupping her cheek in his hand as she grasped his other with her own fingers. The searching her eyes performed on his face and in his ocean blue orbs was as thorough a search as she'd ever done. "I respect your position, Sherlock. We don't have to do this."

In response, he kissed her gently for a few long moments and then pulled away, taking her face in his hands and leaning pressing his forehead against her own. Her hands settled on his waist as they stood in the door way of the kitchen. "Elizabeth, my age has come and passed, the old traditions no longer ring true with everyone. And, I would be lying to both you and myself if I said that I did not desire to consummate the love that I have for you. But I feel I must warn you…" he pulled away from her at that moment, removing one of his hands to grasp one of hers sitting on his waist. He pulled it up and kissed the fingers he found there gently. "I have found through various modes of research and conversations with different people in this time that there are those who view the act of sex as purely recreational. I am not one of those people, nor will I ever be."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to answer him, but he stayed her reply with a finger on her lips. She nodded, letting him continue.

"If we consummate our relationship tonight, you should know that I do not take it lightly by any means, and that I intend to keep you unto myself, for as long as you shall have me." He lowered his finger from her mouth and replaced his hand to match the one on her cheek. "Is this acceptable to you?"

A small smile, one of those smiles a woman could only give to a man she cared for and loved as much as she did Sherlock Holmes played on her mouth. She said only one word. "Yes."

It was the second kiss that Holmes initiated that drove the message home to Lestrade that this was going to be a torturous affair. Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, fingers finding blonde hair that was just begging to be stroked and caressed as he possessed her with his mouth. Control was something Sherlock Holmes was always full of, and this matter was no different as he pulled her away from the doorframe and began inching her back down the hallway, past the guest room, past the restroom, and into Elizabeth's bedroom. Twice, Lestrade almost tripped over the hem of the unbuttoned gown, and twice Holmes held her up until they came to a stand-still in the middle of her room, both of them flushed, breathless, their lips swollen, eyes glittering like dark crystals in the moonlight that shone through the window.

Elizabeth maneuvered her fingers to the buttons of Sherlock's dinner jacket, picking them apart until she slid the coat off slowly, revealing the white dress shirt beneath. Next came his bowtie, which she untied efficiently and dropped to the floor on top of the coat. As she reached for the top button of the shirt, Holmes caught her fingers and kissed the pads softly, looking at her as he did so. Beth not only felt a wave of love crash over her, but also the familiar waves of passion and arousal that had plagued her the past few months, and she grinned a positively feral grin. Stepping back a few feet, she stood before him and inched down the heavy gown that still covered her body, ensuring that she took the corset with it.

Almost immediately, she felt the cool air against her breasts, and her nipples hardened considerably, though she was fairly certain this was more due to Holmes than the wind, for she was positively on fire at the moment. She stepped out of the dress, slipping out of her flats and stood before her lover, clad only in her underwear and loosened her hair which, up until now, had stayed pinned fairly nicely. It was gratifying to hear a short breath released as Holmes closed the distance between them and pulled her against him. His mouth pressed against her hair and dragged down at a disturbingly slow pace until he reached her ear.

"You are gorgeous, Elizabeth. Every inch of you, inside and in, is the essence beauty."

"You're not so bad yourself," she returned cheekily, reaching up to continue removing his shirt, which she did rather quickly. It too joined the jacket and tie on the floor. "Perfection is hard to come by."

She pressed dozens of small kisses to a rather well developed chest, and considered for a brief moment that many of the men who had played the supposed fictional character had not been of considerable upper body strength, and why should they have been? Sherlock Holmes' greatest strength had always been his mind. However, as her hands ghosted over finely tuned muscles and felt the solid body beneath her, she wondered why anyone had ever thought that Holmes could not also be in incredible shape as well?

His hand was at the back of her neck again, pulling her mouth up to meet his in a full, loving kiss, and he began inching her backwards. The back of her knees hit something soft and she gasped, feeling the comforter of her bed tickling at her skin. Her fingers gripped Holmes tighter and she leaned against him, mouth pressing open kisses to any spot that she could reach. After a few moments, her hands found the last major piece of clothing that still donned his body, and she set to removing his belt, letting it drop to the floor with a clang. As she reached for the buttons on the dress pants, Holmes reached down and stilled her movements. She looked up at him, a questioning expression on her face.

"You are certain?" he inquired. She nodded. He released her, moving one of his thumbs into the waist band of her panties as she slowly began to divest him of his pants.

Almost immediately, Beth felt him against her, strong, warm, ready, and it only caused her temperature to soar and a groan of primal desire to escape her throat. Sherlock took that as his turn to remove her last barrier and within seconds they were both standing before the other, naked, panting, wanting nothing more than to proceed, but unsure of how exactly to do it.

Finally, Holmes took control of the situation, nuzzling his mouth against her neck, forcing her to lean against the bed and scoot back to accommodate him. He followed, continuing to crawl towards her, kissing and nipping at any piece of her that he could get until he lay atop her, brushing her hair out of her face and worshiping her with his mouth, to which she was murmuring and gasping her pleasurable thanks. She was so focused on what his mouth was doing that she didn't feel his hand traveling down her body until his fingers were in between the folds of her sweet center, and she cried out at the intrusion. He stilled his movements.

"It's fine," she breathed, "it's okay."

"I do not want to hurt you, Elizabeth."

"You didn't," she assured him, clasping his cheek in her hand and gazing at him, "you didn't, I promise. I was just surprised, that's all."

Nodding, he pressed his mouth against her chin and continued the circular movements his fingers were making on her woman hood. Her head lulled back against the pillow, a hand rested on his head as his tongue was lavishing one of her breasts, sucking at the nub it came across and biting, somewhat forcefully around it. This was heaven for Beth and her pants and gasps confirmed to Holmes that he had not lost his touch…or his bite either.

Meanwhile, the fingers on her mound, not to be forgotten, entered her once more and she arched into his touch, her mouth falling open in a silent prayer for more, her own hips beginning to move in time with the thrust of his fingers, urging, ordering their completion, but Sherlock Holmes was not to be rushed. When his lovers' moans and short cries were beginning to come in a quicker succession, he removed the stimulating pleasure from her center and carried his hand towards the breast he'd started with. Massaging it, he looked up at her, and could see her eyes were heavy with lust. If she still had any vision, she could also probably see that the desire was quickly over taking him as well. He leaned over her once more and began to suckle her other breast, starting on the outside and working his way in as his other hand pinched the hardened nub on her other breast.

He grinned as he could feel the hair on his head being pulled; this woman did not like to be teased, and then again, she loved every moment of it. But, if he continued on in this manner, their first coupling may be over sooner than they both wanted, for with every gasp and plea that fell from her lips, he could feel himself boiling over more and more.

He raised his head from her breast and moved fully atop her, assistance coming from Elizabeth's arms as she held him to her, creating even more friction and heat between their bodies as he maneuvered his knee against Beth's legs to allow him access to her most sacred area. Before pushing forward however, he needed to gain more control, and he desperately needed to abate some of Elizabeth's arousal, otherwise she would undo him in less than 30 seconds. His mouth found hers and he kissed her lazily, murmuring soothing words to her, and within a few moments, her breathing had steadied and her hands came to rest on his neck. "Beth?"

"I'm ready, Sherlock." She looked at him with such love and trust that Holmes couldn't help but pray that he was worthy of such devotion. Not moving his eyes from hers, he pressed against her center with his member and breathed out when he felt himself slide into her with some resistance. Understandable; he knew she had not taken a lover for at least nine months. He stopped for a moment, noticing her eyes had squeezed shut and he pulled out slowly before pushing back in just as gently. He felt hands at his hips, pressing him forward, and he trusted her guidance. He continued to push until he was buried within her as far as his gift would allow. They both panted from the strain, his from wanting to penetrate her as hard as he could, and hers from the strain of not having a lover in a long time.

Eventually, Sherlock pulled back and gave an experimental push forward. He was rewarded with Beth arching beneath him, and he smiled. He could still feel her small hands on his hips as he pulled out and thrust back in again, a little harder. He was once again rewarded with the woman beneath him bending like a cat to his ministrations. Without removing himself, he thrust forward once more, and Beth let out a cry. It was enough for Holmes to repeat the measure, and again, a sound of pure lust was heard escaping Beth's swollen lips. Holmes leaned down to kiss those lips as he moved his member forward again, and again, and again, over and over until they'd developed a perfect rhythm. For the longest time, even though in reality it was only for a few minutes, the only sounds that could be heard was the pleasurable slapping of flesh against flesh, of moans and sighs, gasps and cries.

Beth was nearly beside herself with unadulterated pleasure as she felt her lover move in and out of her continuously. Her legs locked together on his back, keeping him in place as she thrust against him in time with his movements. She didn't want it to be over so soon, but she was beginning to feel the familiar tightness and tingle in her mound, and she knew her climax was nearing. Her sighs were now coming in sharp cries of ecstasy as with each thrust Holmes continued to stretch and test her limits. Her hands, no longer on his hips guiding his movements, were now plastered to his back as he raised himself to look down on her.

"Sherlock…" Even though the room was dark, his eyes were dazzling as he made love to her, and she knew that she could never be in the arms of another man after this. She didn't notice one of his hands move to rest on the bed beside her, but she did notice him rise up a little more to unhook one of her legs and push it towards her chest. She had a mere second to realize what he was doing before he thrust back into her and she cried out, his rod hitting a delicious spot within her that almost made her explode. Her fingers gripped the bed sheets as he quickened his movements within her, gritting her teeth as he continued to graze that spot with his member. She felt herself beginning to come undone, felt the muscles in her legs begin to strain against the pleasure. Her toes curled in towards themselves, her back began to arch, and when it did, his cock hit her pleasure spot dead on, and she came in a glorious cry of his name as he continued to pound her, riding out her orgasm as much as possible before he too succumbed to Beth's movements; her cries of perfect pleasure, the way her breasts bounced as he'd loved her, the way her face looked to Heaven before she climaxed, and, finally, her inner walls clamping down on him as he came inside her, continuing to thrust until he couldn't anymore and lowering himself on her once more, his heart racing.

Holmes could feel her body quake with the aftershocks of the climax he'd delivered to her, and his own body was still tensing and shaking on its own volition as he kissed her deeply and lovingly, brushing her cheeks with his fingers, loving the feel of his member softening inside her. He didn't mention noticing the suspicious water that was dropping from Beth's eyes; he only wiped them away as he brushed the stray strands of her brown hair back from her face and continued to admire her, soothing her until her breathing returned to normal, and her body relaxed underneath him.

Holmes slipped out of her, much to Beth's sorrow as she kissed him lightly, and he lay on his side next to her, watching as she rolled over to match his posture, looking at him. Her fingers traced the strong jaw and cheek bone they found, and in returned, Sherlock pecked at the pads of her digits. "I love you," she said, as though it were a revelation she'd just discovered, "I hope you know how much."

"Of course I know how much. As much as I love you and that cannot be measured either in quantity or described in the English language, so…we must make do with what we can say and show." Holmes crooked a finger forward, inviting her into his embrace and she came willingly, resting her still perspiring head on his chest.

"This changes everything," she murmured, tracing patterns on his skin.

"This changes nothing," Holmes replied. "We simply consummated our courtship. I would still feel the same for you had we not done so tonight, and you for me."

"I mean it'll be harder to hide our relationship now. I don't know if you've heard of sex drives, Sherlock, but I've got one."

"My dear Beth, I also have a considerable urge to copulate and I have managed to control it for over 250 years."

"Holmes, 200 of those years, you were stuck in a honey well." Lestrade arched an eyebrow at him as she sat up, and even though Sherlock was more than a little tired after their first love making, looking at how the light from the moon shone on her pure skin, accentuating pert breasts which just moments ago had been lavished with his mouth and hands, and how her indigo eyes bore into him, he thought that, just maybe, he could show his love for her one more time that night.

Instead though, he rose up to meet her, taking her face in his hands, an act which he was finding more and more he desired and pecked the tip of her nose.

"For once, Elizabeth, this is a matter we can discuss later." His gentle smile did the trick; leaning back, he pulled her down with him and felt her settle her head on his shoulder and chest. His arms wrapped tightly around her, securing her position next to him not just for that night, but for the next night, and the night after that, for a slew of nights and days that he hoped would be relatively peaceful, but he knew would be anything but.


End file.
